Never saw it coming
by CJcraziness
Summary: Set a little after series 3. John and Mary are happy at home. John goes to visit Sherlock to check he has not gone crazy with boredom and ends up finding out something he had never expected. Rated T but Chapter 4 has some violence so it may need to be changed (Please tell me if it does)
1. Chapter 1

"John, you need to check on him. You have not seen him in three weeks." Mary said sternly.

"He's been chasing whispers of Moriarty. I really didn't want to get in his way. He even text me not to help him." John sighed, he was actually a little annoyed he hadn't asked John to help.

"But what happened last time you left him this long? You found him in a bloody drug den. Remember, with that unusual Wiggins character." Mary's gaze was like daggers. It was a rare look, which only appeared when she was worried or angry. This was obviously worry about Sherlock. John did not like the expression at all.

"Alright, alright. I'll see him, that's if he's in." John relented, putting his hands up in surrender. He could not argue with the logic but he just didn't want to be told to do anything. To be honest, he had been wondering why Sherlock hadn't asked him to help. _Sherlock couldn't possibly think I will not try to intervene at some point._ "I'll go see if he's in. Back before nine?" He asked as he walked to the front door.

"Stay as long as you like John, he's your best friend. It's not like the baby is due for another month. I don't think you helping on a case is going to cause her to arrive early." John laughed and walked back to kiss her. She grinned back then shoved him back to the door. "I'll see you soon." She added as she kissed him on the cheek and shut the door.

* * *

Using Mary's car, John drove to Baker Street and instantly regretted it, as parking the car was a nightmare. He arrived at 221B after fifteen minutes of circling nearby streets before parking and walking to the door. This had obviously annoyed him, him still being used to travelling round London in a cab. Driving in London was hellish.

John used his key in get in, being as quiet as possible, wondering if he could actually surprise Sherlock. It was uncommon but John always loved Sherlock to be shocked, it was hilarious. No one seemed to have noticed. No Mrs Hudson dashing out to quiz him on how perfect "domestic bliss" with Mary was which she seemed to do every time he came to see Sherlock. As much as he loved Mrs Hudson it did annoy him. He always replied with the same answer and was wondering when she would catch on.

Silently prowling up the stairs, avoiding all the particular stairs that make a horrible creak, he got to the door of his former flat with Sherlock. He waited for a second to see if Sherlock had noticed or was busy with anyone. For all he knew, Sherlock could have a client. He pushed the door open, it squeaked loudly as it opened_. Well, there goes the element of surprise_ thought John as he half expected Sherlock to call out. Yet, no one called out. He could hear nothing. He strolled in, the flat was strangely quite tidy. _When did Sherlock tidy up? It must be Mrs Hudson then. _He smiled. Scanning the room to see if there was any sign that Sherlock was in. His Violin was on his chair with a few sheets of music and a pen,_ he_ _appears to be composing again_. John's chair was a little scruffy it seemed someone had been sitting on it recently._ I wonder who? Mycroft? Not that I'm jealous _he thought, rolling his eyes at himself. The table was mostly clear with just a laptop and some case files plus Sherlock's scribble of notes. John examined them closely. Hacker - Merlin Hamilton - Dead - 26 - American - Cambridge - Self employed. There was a disk inside the file named Copy 1 of Hamilton Hacker interview. Pawn - not seen- secretly contacted - £1 million. _So, this was the guy which helped broadcast the "Moriarty Miss me?" clip on every screen across Britain_. He shut the file to see Top Secret_. Oops. It was probably off Mycroft then._ He walked into the kitchen and astounded to see the kitchen table completely free of Sherlock's experiments. He skimmed over it. He was confused to see large clawing marks on the table though. Clearly somebody's nails had dug hard into the wood and clawed at it. He dreaded to think what it was.

There were two cups of cold coffee on the side but other than that the kitchen was mostly clean. He sniggered at the cupboards still labelled Food, Non-food or Just don't. The fridge however looked interesting, there was a picture from "Moriarty's Miss me" clip which was stuck to the fridge with two darts and a penknife. The knife was well placed in the centre of Moriarty's forehand. _Evidently not too happy he was back then. _John mused.

* * *

A giggle from Sherlock's room brought John back to reality. _When on Earth did Sherlock giggle? _John started down to Sherlock's room. At least he was home. The journey wasn't for nothing. John stepped on a creaky floorboard and flinched. He always forgot about that one. Audibly there was bang in Sherlock's room and he opened his bedroom door. He popped his head out with a gun in his hand_. Oh god he's found himself one. _He examined the corridor then saw John and his eyebrows rose.

"Oh, John. I wasn't expecting you." He spoke a little raspy. _Strange, was he ill?_ He blinked a couple of times before lowering the gun. "Sorry about that." He said as he cleared his throat. He sounded normal again but was acting a little odd. His eyes jumped about looking suspicious.

"Well, I thought I should see how you are Sherlock. See how any cases are going? See if there's anything on Moriarty... see if I can help."

Sherlock grimaced, walked out and closed his door_. Again... strange. What did Mycroft say about Sherlock and closing door? _Sherlock was regarding him bizarrely, "You okay, John? I can hear gears grinding."

That snapped John back from his thoughts. Sherlock sounded a bit more like himself, insulting John already. "I'm fine."

"Good." Sherlock sauntered down to the kitchen, his bare feet slapping the floor, and his blue, silk dressing gown fluttered as he went. John hoped he was wearing something under it but it was unlikely.

"Well, it is lovely and tidy in here. Did you persuade Mrs Hudson to tidy up?"

"Hmm... It is organised isn't it? I just sort of left it and it appeared less cluttered." He waved his hand towards the main room.

"So, it was Mrs Hudson then. I noticed the file on the hacker, Moriarty's hacker?"

"Err..." He strolled over to it then picked up something from the table putting it into his pocket, but John didn't see what it was. "Yes, it was from Mycroft. I doubt it would infuriate him that you read it, though it is meant to be Top Secret."

"Well, he knows me and you did just leave it where everyone can take it."_ Just genius._

"Yes... Good point." He slurred a little before picking it up and placed it on top shelf of his bookshelf.

"So, other than the hacker... anything?"

Sherlock fretted about before stepping onto the coffee table, kicking something off it and pointing to the wall, where his new Moriarty spider web had formed. It had lists of all henchman that had names crossed out. Photos with scribbles and lines through them. Another picture of Moriarty and a black question mark over him. Miss me? Was written in bold letters underneath. There were some news reports, some phone numbers and photos of some people who were covered in blood.

John pointed to the photos of dead people. "These are?"

"John, please say you have not forgotten how to read since we have last met."

John frowned, Sherlock was very irritated and grumpy today. "No, I can still read. I was just wondering."

Sherlock waved it off. Pointing to the first photo. "John Casey, ex-army, was a hired gun. Was. Sent to kill the hacker. Failed. Next was a rogue spy, he was identified by the hacker as a liaison from him to Moriarty, so his whispers. He was found dead in the street, probably killed by Moriarty's men for not protecting or killing the hacker. Not sure. And that is the hacker... dead. Mycroft told me he was killed along with his men when moving him from a secure facility. Not secure enough..."

"Well, so any ideas what Moriarty is up to this time?" John queried.

"Not yet. I been thinking and running all over the place. I was actually having a rest." John's eyebrows rose. _ A rest... when did he rest? _

"So, you've had too much brain work?"

"No. I needed time to process data." He growled, he was really on edge today.

John was starting to wonder why Sherlock was acting so weird, even for him. Hiding things, closing his door, leaving things out however the flat being very tidy. So, he was obviously hiding something. Also, all the fretting about, giggling, so called "resting" and that means... He could be high: _Drugs. It better not be._

"What...? Ow...! John?" Murmured Sherlock as John marched forward and pushed Sherlock into his chair. "What was that for?" He sneered.

"You are acting weird, Sherlock. More weird than normal. Are you on drugs again?" John demanded. John took his pulse, which was slightly fast but not abnormal. He pulled up Sherlock sleeve and checked for recent puncture marks. None on his left and then his right... None on his right. John leaned forward and checked Sherlock's eyes... the pupils were not too large or small. But his face wore the expression of puzzlement.

"No John, I have not been back on the drugs. Do you have enough evidence yet?" He snarled.

"Then why are you acting so odd?" He shouted. "Something is not right Sherlock. You're hiding something."

"I am not!" Sherlock barked back. "Now, get off." John realised he was leaning on Sherlock's lap.

There was a bang coming from the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock tensed_. Sherlock had a gun. Waiting for someone or something... they must be here._ "Stay here." John insisted. John walked over and picked up Sherlock's gun. Then edged to the hallway.

"No, John! No. It's not what you think." Sherlock declared as he dashed over to John.

John had already got to the door and kicked it open. Sherlock ran into him. "John. John. Give me the gun."

"What's going on Sherlock?" John ordered, his inner captain taking over.

"Nothing. There's nothing there. Now, give me the gun!"

There was movement in the room, as something or someone moved from under Sherlock's double bed.

Sherlock was wrestling with John for the gun. "Give it me. Its mine." He complained like a child. John pushed Sherlock back into the hall. "Whoever you are, stand up with your hands in the air." John barked the command.

A figure rose up from behind Sherlock's bed. Hands hovering near his head.

John pointed the gun at him and demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

* * *

**Just wanted to thank anyone who as reviewed, followed or has favourite this story. Any and all reviews (good or bad) are welcome. I will update as soon as possible. Thank you. :P**


	2. Chapter 2

"John! Listen!" Sherlock yelled. "He's my boyfriend!"

Silence filled the air. This lasting a minute before John spoke. "What?" John's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"You heard me correctly John. The man you are currently pointing the gun at... is my boyfriend."

John lowered the gun and passed it to Sherlock, who grabbed it and put the safety on. Sherlock pushed past John to the man in his room. The man was visibly shaken by the ordeal. His piercing green eyes were wide and he was biting his pale lips. John would have said he looked as pale as a ghost but it seemed to be his natural skin tone.

Sherlock walked over to the man, sat him down on the bed and kissed him on the cheek. This seemed to bring him out of his trance as his cheeks flushed red. John hung his head ashamed of what he had done. He had not listened to Sherlock, who obviously was trying to keep this a secret.

"I am truly sorry. To the both of you." He murmured.

The green eyed man grinned and spoke, "No problems, John. It was only a matter of time before someone found out." His voice was silky but toxic, words just dripped off his tongue like venom. He nuzzled Sherlock's neck then kissed it until he was biting. John looked away, until there was an "Ouch" escape from Sherlock's lips. "I said no love bites." Sherlock's voice rumbled.

This made John chuckle and turn around. Sherlock was sitting arms crossed facing towards the window away from his boyfriend who was still kissing his neck. There was a dark red mark appearing on the back Sherlock's neck. They looked like they had completely forgotten John. He quietly backed out the room.

Both men turned around. "John, no need to leave. You know now. So, we may as well answer the questions that are on the tip of your tongue." The green eyed man spoke crawling over the bed to get a better look of John.

John just smiled awkwardly. "Right." There was silence until Sherlock broke it, "We'll get dressed and talk in the kitchen. Just give us a minute." John backed out, shutting the door and hearing a girlish giggle from behind it.

_Well, that was unexpected. _John staggered into the kitchen, putting the kettle on, then washing his face with some cold water. _Very unexpected_. He pinched himself to check it wasn't a weird dream in which Sherlock had somehow invaded. _Nope, this was real life_. John blinked. _What the fuck had just happened?_

He made himself a cup of tea, something that nearly always took him off edge. He drank it withthree gulps and he didn't feel any better for it. So, he repeated this until there was no more water in the kettle. So, he filled it up again.

"Shocked are we?" Words slithered into his ears. Not Sherlock's voice. John turned around. _Wow, the man was tall, an inch or two taller than Sherlock_. His frame was very thin like Sherlock's maybe even thinner. It didn't look that healthy. He looked much younger than Sherlock though, maybe five or six years younger. His face was long and thin, but his eyes and nose looked too small for his face. His eyes being the most vivid green John had ever seen, his faint eyebrows were low which made the man look like he had a permanent scowl. His hair was unusual too, shoulder length and jet black; yet he had a fringe and two long strands of hair which were the same green as his eyes.

He was clothed in a black suit shirt, even with cuff links but he wore black skinny jeans. The first two top buttons of his shirt were undone which revealed a little too much pale skin in John's opinion. To contrast the outfit further he wore red converse and white belt for his jeans that were still too skinny for him. _He is far too skinny._

The man stepped forward and now looking John up and down. His gaze was unnerving and cold. John's eyes narrowed. _No wonder Sherlock had found someone as cold as himself._ "So, you are the famous Doctor John Hamish Watson? It is good to see a face to the name." His voice had a hint of disappointment. John was starting to dislike him already. _I bet he has a ego bigger than Sherlock._

"Yes, I am John Watson. And since I know nothing of you, since this is or was meant to be a secret. What's your name?" John tried to keep a conversational tone.

"My name? Well, it is Professor or Doctor. I am Doctor Victor Fredrick Lazarus. A professor, teaching at Cambridge. Biochemistry. With that I'm sure you can see why me and Lock get on."

"Lock?" John queried.

"Oh, sorry." He paused. "Curly-Lock, get in here. I'm sure your hair is as perfect as ever." Victor shouted.

"Curly-Lock?" John burst into laughter. Sherlock walked in, he did not look impressed. He smoothed down his hair and brushed an invisible speck of dust off his purple shirt.

"Vicky. I said no calling me that." Sherlock half growled, half purred.

"Whatever you say, William Curly-Locks Holmes." He grinned evilly.

"I'll murder you... "

"Oh, really. Please... explain in detail how you will do it." He stood looking down on Sherlock, still grinning. It was extremely intimidating.

John cleared his throat and the tension disappeared. Both men looked down on John and murmured apologies.

Sherlock clasp his hands together. "Right. Questions." He sat down, "Fire away John."

* * *

Sherlock and John sat opposite each other at the kitchen table while Victor was standing behind Sherlock, his chin leaning on Sherlock's shoulder.

"So, how long has this been going on?" John questioned.

"Umm... Just after I helped Mycroft with that underground terror network. The bomb under parliament?"

"Oh, yeah." John frowned at the reminder, Sherlock had played a prank on him when they were on the verge of death, in which the result had been a dangerously pissed off John.

"Does Mycroft know? I just want to know how secret you have been."

"Oh, Mycroft knows. As much as we tried, he wasn't fouled for long. Not to mention walking in on us." Sherlock turned his head to glare at Victor.

Victor glared back at Sherlock. "It was not my bloody fault. You didn't lock the door."

"But you were determined to not go to the bedroom. Bedroom activities are not for the living room."

"Hey, a rooms' a room. It can be used for anything. The kitchen was a Chemistry lab three days ago." Victor hissed. Now this was getting awkward again, and both men sensed John's discomfort. "Apologies, fire away any additional questions." Victor said, he leaned closer across the table to John. "Ask anything you like."

"Ermm... other than Mycroft. Anyone else know?"

"I don't think so. No Mrs Hudson. Just whoever Mycroft has told. I don't think Mummy knows. That is, I hope she doesn't." Sherlock pondered. Victor pinched Sherlock's cheek and said "Aww, look who still says Mummy."

"So, Mycroft does." There was a threateningly dangerous scowl coming from Sherlock's direction.

"Both so cute. Band of brothers. Just adorable." Victor clearly enjoyed rubbing him up the wrong way.

"So, what did Mycroft say?"

"He was a little shocked actually. He still thought Curly-Lock was a virgin. He certainly is not. Not since I've been around."

"Inappropriate." Sherlock pulled on Victor's hair. "John doesn't want to know about that. Not to mention, I don't want anyone to know about that particular subject."

"Moving on. Myc was shocked. He even said he was expecting Sherlock to be with you rather than anyone else. He thought you two were perfect together." Victor frowned.

"I told Mycroft: I'm not gay. Seriously. I didn't even know you were gay. You said married to your work."

"I was then. However, that was before I met this damsel in distress. He was a suspect in a case." Sherlock turned to kiss Victor on his cheek.

"I wasn't a damsel." Victor's eyebrows lowered and he scowled.

"Yes, you were. A damsel in distress."

* * *

**I hope it wasn't that bad of a chapter. I'm still unsure. I tried to make it funny but it doesn't seem it now I've read over it a lot. Plus, I really don't like the title of the story still. If there is any mistakes, please tell me so I can amend them. I'll try to update as soon as possible but I'm a little confused on how the next chapter fits... may take a little while. Reviews (good or bad) are very welcome, t****hanks again. :P**


	3. Chapter 3

**This takes place a few months after The Empty Hearse. Sherlock is called in for a case ****as always****. **

* * *

Sherlock scrolled into New Scotland Yard, Lestrade was waiting at the reception for him, case files in hand and was talking on the phone. "No! Just no! I said, no calling at work. Look, I'm busy. I'll speak to you later My...yc ... Guy." He put the phone down. Lestrade faked a grin as Sherlock looked at him curiously before snatching the case files, flicking through them.

"Triple shooting. All dead. Just close by a student hotspot, clubs for the youngsters. You know? Party life. You went to Uni, right? I'm sure you know what I mean."

"I get it Jeff. Need to see bodies, reports, CCTV footage and all."

"It's not Jeff. Seriously. Plus we have two promising suspects. One even had a gun on them. Not sure if bullets match up yet though."

"I'll want a word with them or at least hear the interview." Sherlock had flicked thought the reports.

Lestrade looked around. "I'll see what I can do. No John today?"

"No. John is having a day with Mary... again." Sherlock grimaced.

"Right." Lestrade chuckled.

"I'm going down to see Molly. She is in today, yes?"

"Errrr... Yeah. Bye then."

"I'll have the CCTV footage and interviews later. Anything important comes in, text me." Sherlock scuttled off.

After he examined the bodies and examining the gun found on a suspect, Sherlock had returned to Lestrade, who was once again on the phone. "How long does it take to bring it here? I need that CCTV footage now!" He hung up, glowering at the phone.

Sherlock appeared next to him, looking Lestrade over before saying: "Interviews of suspects."

"One is being interviewed now, the other hasn't yet."

"Could I question the one not in interview?"

"Why that one? Wouldn't it be better to listen to the one being interviewed now."

"Easier."

"I don't see how, but I'll see what I can do. But you will be having company."

* * *

Half an hour later, Sherlock was opposite a man he thought was slightly similar to himself. There was a certain coldness about him, his long thin frame made him look frail but Sherlock deduced he was the exact opposite. Late twenties. He lived on his own. Was single and dressed ever so slightly camp and his hair showed he had a slightly outrageous streak, so his sexual preference was likely to be homosexual or bisexual. Not that this deduction was of any use. His work was studious, he dressed smart but was allowed his own style. His work was stressful or tiring. He was obviously intelligent and liked people to know that. Sherlock made other deductions before picking up his file to see what data that had to offer.

Another police officer was with him encase either of the suspect or Sherlock stepped out of line. Not to mention Lestrade was outside the room keeping an eye on him. He was not happy about it. He looked over the file in front of him and then the man sat opposite. Sherlock had to admit he seemed like a less uninteresting person, he looked unusual, cold but clever and quite attractive. _Not that he would ever admit someone was attractive._

"Victor Fredrick Lazarus?" Sherlock asked for his attention, the man looked bored.

"Doctor or Professor will do." His emerald green eyes flashed over Sherlock, they were captivating and unearthly.

"I'll call you Mr Lazarus, thank you. Why were you at the crime scene? It is a hotspot for students and you are hardly a student now." Sherlock considered his approach wondering if he should be more direct.

"I'm a professor, at Cambridge, you know? I'm on a little holiday. Trying to get away from students. Only to be asked by one of my students that he had something important to tell me. He was in London as well. So, I agreed to meet up. That is what I did. Now he is dead." His face and voice were emotionless. He flicked his green eyes over the consulting detective. "You are no real detective or police officer." He licked his pale lips, "You are something different. Something..." He voice trailed off.

"And why do you believe I am not a detective?"

"Because, a child could get that question right. You are William Sherlock Scott Holmes. The Consulting Detective. Not a real detective. But I guess the name is interesting." He grinned, then started messing with his long green locks of hair, getting bored again.

"Why did this student want to speak to you?" He pushed photos of the students forward across the table.

He picked up a photo of a male student, a bullet hole could be seen clearly on his forehead. "He was Howard Grimsby and I have no idea. But he was an excellent student though. 100% on all examinations so far."

"What do you know of the other students?"

"This one. Yvonne Carling..." He pointed to a photo of a female student covered in blood. "Was a useless student, wrong course, wrong choice, wrong life. Acted like she was thick, but got average marks in examinations. Not too sure why. Maybe not as thick as I thought." He looked at the other one. "I do not know this student well. Not my class."

The interview continued like this for some time. Lots of minimal answers. The man clearly was not taking the interview seriously. Yet, he seemed to be enjoying some of it. Strange grins occasionally broke out on his face, it confused and unnerved Sherlock ever so slightly. _Why would he be enjoying this?_

A few questions later and Sherlock finally got a some data he deemed worthwhile. "So, the gun? Your's I presume. And three bullets missing. Why?"

"The gun is mine. I have it licensed. I use it regularly. Shooting ranges, so that it why bullets are missing. But I also have had target practice in the flat. Not advisable, but fun. I took the gun with me as I'm agoraphobic. I don't like places I have not been before. Especially If I was asked under strange conditions. Surely you would take a gun to a place that has hordes of drunk students. I'm sure you can see that."

"If you have agoraphobia. Shouldn't a situation like this unnerve you?" Sherlock leaned closer to the man and a brief smile broke across his lips as he thought he'd caught the man out.

"No. It feels familiar. Small, cold and boring places. Reminds me of places I've been before... No, actually I've been in this situation before." Sherlock frowned at this.

"So, you have been arrested before?"

"Yes. But it was a mix up. I was identified wrongly. Robbery. Nothing serious."

"So, an agoraphobic with a gun goes..." Sherlock was interrupted by Lestrade walking into the interview room with a Blackberry phone. "It's for you." He handed it to Sherlock and took him out the room, leaving the estranged green eyed professor behind.

* * *

**I thank anyone who has followed, reviewed or has favourite this. I really appreciate it. Also, I'll update as soon as possible. Sorry if this chapter is a bit shorter than the others. If you notice anything that doesn't make sense, just say. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Warnings: Violence, torture (ish) and blood. (Not sure what warnings should be mentioned really, do you put a warning for blood?)**

"So... you two met in an interview room at the Yard? Was it love at first sight?" John joked sipping his seventh cup of tea since being at Sherlock's flat. It wasn't good since he had only been there for two and a half hours.

"Certainly not." They both said in unison. "But we both had mild interests in each other. I for one thought he was damn attractive and slightly mysterious." Victor added grinning at Sherlock.

"I can see the appeal of Sherlock's unusual demeanour, I guess." John smiled.

"You followed me to a murder scene the second time we met John! And you only say appeal?" Sherlock pouted.

"Don't be a baby Curly-Lock." Victor grumbled rolling his eyes. This awarded himself a slap from on the cheek from Sherlock.

"So, that was the first time you met? Why did you say damsel in distress then? He didn't seem like one."

"I wasn't a damsel!" Victor hissed. Sherlock smiled at Victor's annoyed expression and kissed his cheek. _It seemed it was a very love and hate type relationship._ John thought.

"Well... he was a damsel the second time we met then. This was after we had that incident... So, I wasn't helping on the case for a few days while you were recovering John." John frowned at the memory, he didn't want to be reminded of it.

"So, go on then? I want to know why you were considered a damsel Victor." John queried and grinned knowing it would annoy Victor. _He'd been protesting enough._ Sherlock's smile widened as he continued the story.

* * *

Sherlock arrived at the door of the Victor Lazarus's flat. He only wanted more information on his students and preferred to get the details himself instead of listening to the interview which was not helpful whatsoever. It had been a few days after Mr Lazarus had been let out of custody, due to lack of evidence which was to the disappointment of Lestrade.

Sherlock strolled up to the door. A green door, he should have guessed that. The man seemed to adore green. The flat was on the fourth floor, on the outskirts of London, but that data wasn't too useful. He looked at the door more closely, the wood near the frame seemed to have splintered, Sherlock crouched down and examined it. He skimmed his finger along the wood. The wood had buckled and broken... it had been forced open... He pushed on the door it didn't budge but he turned the handle only to find it was open. He silently opened the door but it creaked as it edged open. Sherlock froze and listened for any movement inside. Nothing moved, there was no sound from within the flat. He slowly let the door swing open to reveal dreary darkness. It was the afternoon and light outside... _Why was it so dark?_ He moved stealthily into the joint living room and kitchen area of the flat. He saw that large black curtains had been drawn to shield the room from the afternoon sunlight. A slit of light had managed to find its way through a tear in one of the curtains. It showed very little but from what he could see was broken glass. He strode over to the curtains and pushed one back and light flooded into the room banishing the darkness to the far corners of it.

The room was a battleground. A struggle had indeed took place. The first thing Sherlock observed was the broken glass of the coffee table. The glass surface was shattered into a thousand pieces, the object that smashed it wasn't something small. Sherlock inspected the pattern of broken glass, some glass pieces were covered in red. _Obviously blood. Someone had been thrown onto the table and it smashed. _Looking round the room he saw that two kitchen chairs had been knocked over. One had been clearly thrown across the room. It had pushed over a stack of books on Biochemistry. The kitchen table had blood on it also as someone had slammed their head on the table. He looked at the floor, finding two things of interest: one being a gun, a similar handgun that had been found on Victor's person when he had been arrested; the other object was far more intriguing... a syringe which the needle had snapped but there was still some clear residue inside. Sherlock sniffed it but couldn't place it, though it seemed likely to be a tranquillizer of some kind. He turned in a circle taking in the room and pulled out his phone to text Lestrade. However, he was interrupted by a noise from the door that must lead to the bedroom. It was a muffled sound like a growl. Sherlock crept over to the door which was pushed to but not shut. A gap was still between the door and frame. Sherlock peered through.

From first glance Sherlock could see it was the main bedroom with a queen sized bed and little else. He pushed his head through to see more. There was a chair facing away from Sherlock, it was also occupied by one Victor Lazarus. He hands were bound behind him with thin wire which had sliced deep into his wrists. Blood had run down his hands and dripped onto the floor discolouring the carpet. His long sleeved shirt was slashed in several places, evidently done by the broken glass and the knife that was currently tracing lines along his right cheek which had a single tear running downwards. He was gagged and it was clear it been retied numerous times. Lazarus's ankles were also tied to the chair with a similar wire to his wrists. Sherlock examined him from afar, his back was extremely straight and his eyes were locked onto the man in front of him. Even as the blade cut lightly into his flesh he did not flinch or whimper, he simply let a lone tear travel down his face and his gaze lock onto his captor.

His captor was half hidden from Victor's body but he could see a well-built but small youthful man. Five foot but built like a boxer. Likely to be in his early twenties. His blonde hair was cropped close to his skull. His frosty blue eyes held bitterness and anger. His thin lips were turned to a snarl. His nose was bloody, clearly broken, maybe he had been the one who slammed his head on the table.

His captor was the one would had growled. He was growling now, it was feral and deep. "Why won't you react?" He snarled, "You've ruined everything. And you will not react."

Victor must have made a face at this as the man slapped him hard across the face, the force throw his head to the side and out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock. His evergreen eyes screamed _Help Me!_ The other man did not notice as he then slapped him again but this head flung to the other side. "It was working so well. I heard they were going to tell you. I found out when and where. I followed and I killed them. I knew a little about you. Researched you a little... found out you like guns. But I didn't think you would take one with you. It made it even better. I took some bullets out of your gun when I broke into here before I killed them. And... and you were arrested. Of course you were. Then they thought it was you.. It was great." Victor muffled something beneath his gag. "What?" He snarled. The man pulled down the gag slightly so he could speak. "Scream and you will die now." He warned while he waved his blade in front of Victor's face.

"You killed three students because they found out you cheated on the examinations. It's a bit much don't you think? That can't be the only reason you did it." Victor's voice was raw.

"No. I've only got here from cheating. I'm not a genius. I couldn't have someone telling people. They had to go. They had to!" His voice was deep as he reasoned with himself why he had done it.

"Not a genius... but you must have acceptable IQ to actually hide the fact you have cheated so far. If you've cheated all through your life, it could be classed as a achievement. That talent could be more useful elsewhere, other than University." He complimented the man and his eyebrows rose in acknowledgement. Victor was stalling, waiting for Sherlock to help him. Sherlock picked up the gun he had found. It had two bullets in the clip... not many but it was enough. He finished his text to Lestrade and kicked open the door.

The man leapt up. His gaze fixing on Sherlock. A frown forming on his face. Victor's head whipped around and his eyes were pleased. "Put the knife down and step away." Sherlock spoke as he raised the gun with steady hands. The man had other ideas and pulled Victor, who was still tied to the chair, towards him and put the knife to his throat. Victor rolled his eyes as he had expected it but there was nothing he could do. "No you listen to me. Put the _gun down_ or he is dead." He smirked and held the knife closer to his neck. Sherlock lowered the gun gradually and the man smiled. Sherlock shot him in the foot. The man swore and clutched his foot, dropping the knife in the process. Sherlock stepped forward and kicked him in the chest, the man lost his balance and stumbled back. However, he happened to kick Sherlock's legs out from under him making him fall over as well. The man jumped on top of Sherlock and preceded to punch him, luckily missing his face twice before hitting Sherlock in the nose, there was a awful crack as it broke. Sherlock cursed and battled with the man in effort to shove him off. Victor observed the two wrestling with a bored expression on his face.

Police sirens could be heard in the background and Sherlock realised he only needed to distract the man for a little while longer. The man grabbed one of Sherlock's wrists trying to restrain him as well as attempting to crush it. Sherlock looked after for something to help him as the man decided it would be best to strangle him. Thick fingers curled around his slander neck. He saw the knife and tried desperately to grasp it, but it was out of reach. The man's hands tightened and Sherlock could no longer breath. He struggled and squirmed but couldn't prevent the man from strangling him. With the last of his strength he stretched out grabbing hold of the knife just as the sound of the footsteps thundered up the stairs. He brought the knife down on the man's neck, as blood erupted out of his Vertebral artery as it was cut. The man shook a little and gargled on blood before collapsing limp on Sherlock's chest. Sherlock was still pinned under the heavy weight as Lestrade and a handful of other police officers spilled into the room.

Twenty minutes later Sherlock sat in another ambulance once again with Lestrade questioning him on the events earlier. Victor had been taken to hospital. The offender and murderer was dead. On top of that he had sort of caught a murderer by accident.

"How is the neck feeling now?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock's neck had lovely dark bruises in the shape of fingers forming on his neck. He was not impressed.

"Fine."

"Alright. Good, well we've mostly finished up here. So, I can get you home soon if you want?" Lestrade smiled.

"Yes. I want to get out of here."

"Right then. I'll arrange transport to Baker street then." Lestrade strolled off to make arrangements. Sherlock stared into the distance but was interrupted by the annoying screechy voice of Sergeant Donovan. "Hello Freak."

"Go away Sally! I don't need stupid around me right now." Donovan growled at the statement.

"Thanks. But I wanted to say that Mr Lazarus wanted to ask if he could your number before he left." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Probably not to make friends mind you, who would want to be your friend other than John, of course. I gave it him anyway, he likely just wants to say thanks. Now bye Freak." She wandered off before Sherlock could enquiry further.

* * *

**Sorry it's been forever and a day since I've updated... I've been writing something for a friend... You don't want to know (It's Myriarty... Hehe). Anyway, same as always... mistakes tell me, review if you want, favourite if you want and whatever else. Thanks. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

It was getting late, close to nine o'clock when John said he would be home to Mary. He didn't want to go against what he had told Mary but he was so very intrigued by Sherlock's story. He decided to send her a text saying he will be back later than expected. Victor had wondered off after being called a damsel too many times_... It seemed to hurt his ego too much_, John smirked. Sherlock and John had returned to their rightful places, facing opposite each other in their chairs. It felt as if he was back once again living in the flat... only there was someone else moping around as well. It was almost like there was two of Sherlock. Victor had just gotten out the shower when Sherlock had finally finished explaining why Victor was _his damsel in distress_ and he scowled at them from across the room.

"Just give me a minute John..." Sherlock said as he noticed the dangerous glare, he jumped up and followed Victor back to their bedroom. Before John heard their door shut noisily, the sound of over dramatically loud kissing could be heard and some murmuring which John was sure he didn't want to know. While Sherlock and Victor were away, John took time to examine Sherlock's new web on the wall; it was layered with information, pictures and even a diagram or two. He noticed there was three different types of handwriting; one was Sherlock's... his usual small sprawl of writing everywhere. Another type was large looped and joined letters, someone who obviously took pride in their writing. He had seen the handwriting before and guessed it was Mycroft's. The older Holmes brother was highly likely to add his own comments on things as he noticed nearly all the looped writing was next to Sherlock's. One particular note seemed to have a written argument between the two, this caused John to chuckle. _When will they ever get on?_ The last type was what John classed as normal until it seemed to mix with a little of German. John frowned, _who's writing could it be?_ It only then dawned on him that it was so very evidently Victor's but he was disappointed and even slightly jealous that Victor had replaced him on the case of Moriarty.

Ten minutes later Sherlock and Victor strolled back into the room trying not to giggle like children who had done something they shouldn't. John rolled his eyes. He wondered how Mrs Hudson had not noticed Sherlock's change in behaviour. If Mycroft had walked in them... _Surely she would have noted something? Not even the fact that the flat had been tidied by someone other than herself?_ Victor placed a kiss on his boyfriend's forehead and then sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair. Sherlock himself settled back in his chair with a devilish smirk on his face and John didn't want to know.

"Now that is settled, would you like me to continue or do you need to go?" Sherlock questioned.

"Sherlock, if I needed to be home I would have left when you... were busy." John answered awkwardly. Victor sniggered as Sherlock's eyebrows rose at the statement.

"Our third meeting didn't go quite as well as I would have liked..." Victor commented.

* * *

Days after saving Victor Lazarus; Sherlock was looking into a double homicide, at Lestrade's request of course. It was boring as he had easily narrowed down the suspects to one of two. A mother and daughter was found lifeless in bed which would make you think that it was the father... who was currently missing. Yet, the brother was missing as well. Either way, it was either of them or both together. A man had clearly strangled both women as they had slept. He looked at the body of the mother still in her bed, her face looked peaceful as if death had not taken over and now possessed her features. If you looked from afar you would have thought she was still in a deep sleep. A slight smile was still on her face which was unsettling as she would have never known the people she loved dearest had murdered her. However, the daughter hadn't been as lucky. Her eyes were staring wide into the abyss of death, she had watched as either her brother or father choked her until her life had slipped away.

Though Lestrade had said it was quite likely it was the father or brother, he had brought Sherlock in to find them anyway, in which Sherlock was actually grateful. He was utterly bored at Baker street. He didn't have John to pester or bother every second of the day and he had no experiments at the moment due to the fact he nearly blew up the kitchen... again. Mrs Hudson was not impressed with him at the moment and banned all experiments until further notice. Even his brother hadn't helped by bringing anything, but then again Mycroft's presence was annoying so he should be glad.

Sherlock was sat in Lestrade's office reading over the two files of the father and brother trying to piece together where they would be as Lestrade and his team were doing the same with CCTV, phone call records and interviewing close friends. Neither of them were having any success, yet Sherlock was happy that he had a case at the least. This was when his phone dinged and he expected it to either be John or Mycroft. The fact was it was neither, the number was unknown and it read.

_Hello, I am hoping this is the number of Sherlock Holmes. I just wanted to thank you and wondered if I could meet you soon, to give a proper thank you. Dr V Lazarus._

Sherlock was pleasantly surprised and typed back his response saying he could come round to Baker street sometime later in that week. Most of the time he didn't like people thanking him too much, he normally got over dramatic gratitude and ridiculous presents he would never use. Though it did help boost his ego occasionally. He made the exception as he had found Victor a pretty interesting person when in interview.

After a few more hours looking into the whereabouts of the father and brother, Sherlock retired back to Baker street with the files and half-heartedly promising to text Lestrade if he got anything. Sherlock unlocked the door 221b and heard Mrs Hudson talking pretty loudly to someone. His first thoughts went to John but the voice that returned was silky, slightly accented and definitely no way John's. He walked over to Mrs Hudson's door which was open somewhat. The voice talking was louder now, silky but sharp at the same time and the faint accent was German. He recognised the tone to be Victor Lazarus's. He pushed the door open to see Mrs Hudson and her guest smiling over a cup of tea. Mrs Hudson seemed to be giggling at the time Sherlock wandered in and Victor was nodding with a dramatic fake smile... evidently not too pleased of waiting with the older woman.

Victor's cool emerald eyes rose to meet Sherlock's and real amused grin replaced his fake one. "He seems to have arrived." He announced with the woman still oblivious to Sherlock's presence. She turned and smiled up to Sherlock. "This young man wanted to see you, Sherlock. Did you really save his life? It's wonderful." Her voice was loving and cheery, neither of the men seemed to mimic her happiness.

Sherlock nodded and noticed how Victor's eyes darkened at the mention of his saviour. They excused themselves and Victor followed Sherlock up to his flat without seeing if he was granted permission or not. He followed Sherlock into the room and his calm eyes flickered around the jungle of mess in the room; files, books, paper and body parts in jars were everywhere. Sherlock's flat didn't seem to be the most orderly place ever. He sat himself down on the strangely uncluttered couch and stared at the eyeballs in the jar in front of him, smiling as the eyes seemed to bob about as if alive. Sherlock was surprised that the man wasn't fazed by the body parts everywhere, they were sadly being thrown out on Mrs Hudson's order and were all on show so he could study them for one more night before they went.

Sherlock sat on the arm of his chair facing Victor who seemed to be amused by the eyeballs in front of him. Sherlock cleared his throat and Victor focused his green gaze towards him.

"Right... I wanted to ask you is there anything I could do as a thank you for saving my life. A present or meal or something?" He mumbled, he seemed embarrassed and Sherlock couldn't understand why. Sherlock frowned with puzzlement. Victor noticed and gritted his teeth. "I'm not bothering you am I?" His normally silky voice sounded uncertain.

Sherlock shook his head. "Other than studying these and a case I'm not too busy." He indicated to the body parts in jars.

"That would imply I am interrupting you." He rolled his eyes for some reason. "So, I'll keep it brief. Thank you and can I go anything to reinforce my thanks?"

Sherlock looked lost in thought. "A meal would be acceptable. Sure." Victor's face seemed to drop a little at the word acceptable, but it only lasted a second. Sherlock eyes blinked and shone with something, a smile slid on his face. "Why don't we go for a meal right now?

"I thought you were busy?" The emerald eyes flickered over him.

"Not anymore. Dinner is far more interesting. Let's go." Sherlock walked back out the room as he still hadn't taken his coat off. Victor followed in suit.

* * *

Half an hour later, Victor and Sherlock sat in a rather lavish restaurant, Victor hadn't gotten to pick it but wished he had now. Looking at the items on the menu, he bite his lip... some of the items were ridiculously overpriced. Yet, he had offered and he was meant to be grateful for his life being saved. Though was a really expensive meal worth his life? Sherlock seemed content looking at the menu but his eyes flicked around the room as if he was looking for something. Victor didn't comment.

"My brother occasionally eats here, he knows where to find good food. His appetite is ludicrous." Sherlock mused. Victor raised an eyebrow, unsure on how to answer.

"I see." Was all Victor could think of.

"His only good quality. Hmm... finding good food. Useless in every other respect." Sherlock continued mumbling about his brother and it started to turn into a rant.

"So what do you want to eat?" Victor hoping he would distract him from his ranting.

"Hmm... Always the places that have good desserts too and of course cake, bloody only cares about food..." The ranting continued.

"Sherlock?" Victor's toxic voice had grew louder and two couples nearby on other tables glared at them. Victor didn't care as Sherlock had returned his attention to him.

"We're in a nice restaurant, John, don't raise your voice." Sherlock muttered.

"John?" Had he just been mistaken for someone else? Victor sighed, maybe this thank you wasn't a great idea. Though he had been using this as dual purpose, he wanted to get to know the Consulting Detective a bit more... he was interesting and not bad on the eyes either. Victor had realised he fancied him after meeting him, the second he disappeared out the interview room just under a month ago now.

Sherlock looked up from the menu. "Oh. Apologises Victor." His voice didn't sound that apologetic.

They ordered and ate in relative listen, Victor found it hateful and tried to make conversation on more than one account.

"So, what was with all the body parts in the lounge?" It was strangely the first thing that came to mind, not a great idea as they were currently half way through their main meal.

"Normally people do not like talking about body parts over dinner, or at the table for that matter. I'm sure it wouldn't be best." Sherlock answered then continued eating.

"Okay. You said you had a case to work on... what is it exactly about?"

"Dead mother and daughter. Really not good at finding subjects for dinner talk are you? Body parts and dead bodies... really Victor." Sherlock had meant it to be funny but it turned out very serious and Victor's emerald eyes had flashed red with anger at the insult.

"Well, if I am so very terrible at conversation over dinner... why don't you start it?" Victor's voice wasn't meant to raise again but it did. Sherlock rose from his dinner and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"You are an agoraphobic if I recall correctly, why are you so calm at the moment? We are in a new situation, a very large space with someone you don't really know and there is a great deal of people around us." Sherlock queried but there was no mistake there was some irritation in his voice.

Victor frowned, where had that question come from? He had been only slightly nervy most of the evening but that was usual level when out and about. Yet, now Sherlock had mentioned it he started to feel quite nervous. His anxious eyes scanned over the room... that was not a good idea. He was an agoraphobic but he had been so wrapped up in the evening and prospect of going out for a meal with the Consulting Detective his fear of unknown and crowded situations had died down somewhat. However, now he felt the mild panic settling in as he noticed how many people were around him in a very large open room. His breath had hitched in his throat and he bit down hard on his lip.

Sherlock looked at him curiously then his eyes widened as Victor was starting to panic. Which was caused my his own irritation, he cursed. Victor's face started to go flush and he started to sweat a little. His breathing had already become irregular, breathing very fast. One of Victor's hands was on the table curled into a tight fist, his knuckles were turning white with the pressure and it was trembling. In a matter of three minute Victor had gone from absolutely fine to the start of a panic attack. Sherlock guessed it would get worse if he didn't do something.

Sherlock stretched out a hand uncurling Victor's fist and threading his fingers in his. "It's alright." He said but it fell on deaf ears. He could feel the tremors from Victor's hand and arm. He reached over the table with a glass of water in hand, offering it to him to drink. Victor had bitten his lip and it was bleeding, he seemed reluctant to opening his mouth to slip the drink. Victor was hyperventilating now and sweating profusely. He had squeezed his eyes shut and was trembling even more now.

At this point Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to do other than move Victor away from the situation. He stood up and picked up the trembling man and carried him out the room with nearly all eyes on him. It didn't bother him too much as the man who had been dinning with him was having a panic attack. When out the room Victor wasn't any better and still refused to drink. He refused to move. He refused to do anything. His heartbeat was unreasonably fast and his breathing was just the same. A few waiters had come over to assist but nothing either Sherlock or the men did was helping. In the end Victor fainted and Sherlock called an ambulance. When it arrived Victor was taken in and Sherlock went to the hospital with him.

* * *

**I know a bit about agoraphobia and panic attacks from psychology but not a great deal. I know a few agoraphobics are ones that leave the house. I looked up symptoms of panic attacks even thought they are quite obvious... the fact is I'm not that sure how panic attacks come on. So... I hope it's right. I actually changed the ending of this chapter it was meant to be faced with a completely different issue. Also, any spelling mistakes inform me. Review, favourite and follow if you like. Sorry for the mish-mash of updates. Thank you for reading.**


End file.
